


Impaled

by ThePornFairy



Series: Fire-verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay (mild), Dom/sub, Fluff, Gentle Dom Castiel, M/M, Objectification (mild), Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, SO MUCH FLUFF, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 17:15:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13486092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePornFairy/pseuds/ThePornFairy
Summary: “Today I want you to be good for me, Dean,” he says, stroking Dean’s cheekbones and jaw. “I want to do something to you, and I want you to let me without fighting me, just because it’ll make me very happy. Can you do that?”Dean nods. Right now, he’d do anything for Castiel.





	Impaled

It starts like this.

One day, Dean decides that internet dating is a good idea. There might have been some alcohol involved, but that’s entirely beside the point. Sammy’s at Stanford, it’s goddamn November and the weather is miserable, so he signs up. He’ll blame the booze for skipping right past the regular websites, Tinder and Grindr and whatever the fuck - No. Go big or go home. He needs some lovin’, thanks so much, and there was that one time with the girl in a zorro mask, and then he’s on some website with a black background filling in shit like _submissive_  and  _bisexual_ for all the world to see.

Fucking tequila. He’s never touching it again.

Except for a few weeks later, he’s standing in a Starbucks, desperately wishing he had some. The ten high schoolers in front of him are more than enough to set his teeth on edge. He taps his foot as he watches the barista slam down a paper cup, push a strand of red hair behind her ear and turn back to make another mocha frappu-whatever. Why, oh God, _why_  had he agreed to  _Starbucks_ ?! This should go right into his hard limits, he’ll have to add that somewhere so he’ll remember for the next one.  _No dates, especially first dates, at fucking Starbucks. Especially not just after the fucking school next door let out._

“What can I getcha?” a peppy blonde woman behind the counter says, looking far too energetic.

“Coffee,” Dean mutters.

She laughs. “We do specialize in that, sir. Anything in particular strike your fancy?”

“Black. Hot. In a cup. Preferably a lot of it.”

“One venti dark roast coming right up, what’s your name?”

“Dean.”

He pays and stands to the side where the chattering high schoolers can’t possibly reach him and then he waits. What kind of person was this SirHuckleberry, really? They’d matched great on paper. Well. Website. If this pans out he’s never admitting that. Ever. Especially not to Sam. He tries to smile at the redhead when she slams his drink down and yells his name, but she’s already gone back to the overly complicated machinery.

The coffee’s good though. Hot, black, bitter enough to make his mouth feel almost dry after swallowing. He sips it slowly, leaning against a counter, watching when a man in a trench coat and an awful sweater rushes in, hair on end and a briefcase in one hand. He weaves through the tables and to the counter, catching the blonde’s eye. The blonde nudges the redhead and magically, a paper cup is ready at the end.

“Mr N!” shouts the redhead.

“Thank you, Anna.”

He’s barely tasted it before a high schooler bumps his elbow, jostling his drink.

“Sorry, Mr N,” the flustered girl says. “Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s fine, no harm done,” Mr N says.

Dean sips his coffee again.

“I’ll getcha that paper on Monday, I swear,” the girl says, shifting awkwardly.

“I’m sure you will.”

“Coming?” shouts a guy from the door, and the girl jerks.

“Oh, I uh, I have to - Have a good weekend, Mr N!”

“You too, Rachel.”

The guy stands awkwardly for a moment while the high schoolers leave, and Dean tracks him silently. Then he turns and looks around the coffee shop, before spotting Dean.  _No. No way_ , Dean thinks, but sure enough the guy steps up to him and says,

“You wouldn’t happen to be CowboyBoots67?”

and before Dean has a chance to abort mission, he hears himself answer,

“Yes, sir, I’m your huckleberry.”

The man grins into his coffee cup and that’s that, really.

That’s how Castel Novak walks into Dean’s life and never leaves.

 

*

 

A year and some change later, Cas comes in the front door,  _their_  front door, and tosses his keys on the dresser next to it. As though this is any other day of the week. As if Dean hasn’t been sat on the couch  _waiting,_ a low buzz below his skin. Cas’s hair is as dishevelled as usual, the blue tie crooked and his suit rumpled.

“Hello,” he says, smiling when Dean waves at him over the back of the couch. “How was your day?”

Dean shrugs, trying to not look as impatient as he feels. “‘S’was good. Bobby got in a pile of shit that probably missed the last thirty oil changes or something, based on how clogged everything was. Guy driving it was this huge redneck, had no idea why his car wouldn’t start, just spent twenty minutes cursing at Bobby about it.”

“Bobby took that well, then,” Cas says, shedding the suit jacket and loosening his tie as he steps closer. He smells of dust and copy-machine ink.

“Mmh,” Dean grunts, leaning back and looking up at Cas. From this angle, Cas towers over him, and the thought settles in Dean’s stomach like glowing embers. Cas leans down and gives him a chaste kiss and when he pulls back, Dean makes this tiny sound that is totally not a whine. It prompts another peck before Cas pulls back, leaning his hip against the back of the sofa.

“You eat yet?” he asks, carding his hand through Dean’s hair.

“Lunch. Wanted to wait for you.”

“Reheat something for us? I’m just going to pop in the shower real quick.”

“Sure.”

Dean makes to stand, but Cas stops him, his hand sliding down from Dean’s hair to tilt his head back again. It trails down his throat, Cas’s thumb rubbing across his Adam’s apple. Cas hums, a soft and pleased note, splaying his hand over Dean’s collarbone, his thumb pressing just a tiny bit harder as he leans down to kiss him again. It leaves Dean just shy of breathless and he has to force himself to open his eyes after. Cas squeezes firmly before letting go, disappearing down the hall towards the bathroom. Right then. Dinner. Small talk. Yep, he can do this. Dean takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before heading towards the fridge.

Cas reappears right as the microwave beeps because he’s the master of the four minute shower, already dressed in a soft sweater and worn jeans. They take plastic bowls of food to the table, where they eat, Cas foot resting casually between Dean’s own beneath the table. Cas eyes are warm, even as he chews. He doesn’t smell like copy-machine ink anymore, just soap and warm skin, his hair tousled and wet, and Dean definitely only notices because Cas absently wipes away a waterdropplet from behind his ear. Just dinner.  _Nothing to see here, Winchester. Don’t think about the thing. Definitely do not think about the thing._

“I’ll wash up,” Cas says as Dean scrapes the last out of the container. “You go clean up.”

Dean nods, his tongue feels swollen and his skin prickles. Cas pulls him in again after he stands, cradling his head in large firm hands as he kisses slow and deep that just reignites the embers in Dean’s stomach.

“Go on,” Cas says, and swats his butt before moving away.

He goes into the bathroom and undresses quickly. He’d never assumed he’d be like this, that they’d be like this. Neither had Cas, for that matter. Dean’s the loud one, laughing openly and filling Castiel’s life with movement and madness, but Castiel makes him stop. Like this, like now. He’d known they’d play today, Castiel said as much this morning. Cas starts a little later on Wednesday mornings, and Dean tends to do the same whenever work permits, staying late on Mondays instead. Most of the time, on Tuesdays after work, Dean’s just like this. Quiet. Pliant. Obedient. It still rattles him and chafes somewhere inside from time to time, but not today. As he showers and prepares per Castiel’s earlier instructions, he’s not nervous at all.

Naked and damp, he walks into the bedroom, where Cas is already waiting on the bed. Just as he’s starting to go to his knees, Castiel stops him with a raised hand.

“Let me see you,” he says and stands up.

Dean swallows, letting himself fall into a simple at ease position, as Cas steps into his space, the soft sweater barely brushing Dean’s chest. Castiel’s always done that, just shoved himself close to Dean without even really noticing, as though he belongs here, close. As though he’s got every right - and he does. Castiel hands smooth over his shoulders, down his arms, and Dean’s fighting not to close his eyes.  _It’s too soon,_ he thinks,  _we haven’t even started yet,_ but he’s teetering on the edge of that space where he’s just falling. Flying. Free.

Castiel steps back with a pleased hum, and twirls his finger. Dean turns, heat flashing across his face. He knows what’s coming next, but it never stops the feeling of shame rolling through him. As predicted, there’s a tap on his back a moment later, and he bends forward to put his hands on his knees - and then straightens his back when Castiel fingers press against his lower back.

“ _Present_ , Dean,” Castiel murmurs, “you know how.”

So he does, staring at the carpet and tilting his ass up for all and sundry (Castiel) to see. Fingers smooth over his back, hands palm over his ass and upper thighs for a long few minutes, before pulling one cheek aside to _look_ , and Dean’s face gets redder and redder while he desperately wishes it didn’t. His cock twitches.

“Good,” Castiel says, stepping back. “Foot of the bed, face the bed, and then down.”

Dean stands with a shaky breath, moving to the foot of their four-poster, fairly ugly, bed. There, he kneels down, forehead to the floor and wrists crossed just above his head. Castiel moves around. The carpet smells like dust and Dean closes his eyes. There’s some rustling, a few clonks, something metal; the smell of silicone and lube. Then Castiel’s in front of him, bare foot pressing firmly down on Dean’s wrists and  _ohgod_  that does  _things_  to Dean’s insides. He knows the picture they present, with him bent over on the floor and Castiel,  _wonderful amazing Castiel,_  is stood towering over him. Damn if that doesn’t make his breathing fast and shallow.  _Cas_  is for out there, for the teacups left around the house and the books and that damn trench coat, but now, here, he’s nothing but  _Castiel_.

“Wrists,” Castiel says, withdrawing his foot, and Dean kneels up, eyes lowered as he offers his wrists for the cuffs. They use the suspension cuffs a lot. They have gone soft with use, their weight and firm grip pushing Dean closer to that edge.

Next there’s a soft clinking sound and then Castiel’s fingers guide his head up. Dean lets his mouth fall open when he sees the gag, the ball fitting snuggly behind his teeth. Castiel fastens the straps around his head, and Dean closes his eyes for a minute to get used to the feeling. It’s always intense, the ball pushing into his mouth and forcing it open, the strap under his jaw, across his cheeks, over his nose and back. Castiel’s hands settle over his cheeks, fingers splayed wide, and he rubs Dean’s stretched lower lip with a thumb. Dean whines briefly, and then he’s falling off the edge, flying, staring up at Castiel and hoping that he can read his mind.

“Snap your fingers for me,” Castiel says.

Dean snaps one hand, then both, and Castiel nods.

“Today I want you to be good for me, Dean,” he says, stroking Dean’s cheekbones and jaw. “I want to do something to you, and I want you to let me without fighting me, just because it’ll make me very happy. Can you do that?”

Dean nods. Right now, he’d do anything for Castiel.

He still tries to swallow, tongue trapped under the ball, when Castiel moves aside and there’s a giant fucking dark purple dildo attached to the bed frame. It’s thick, probably as thick as Dean’s wrist, standing straight up. It’s obscene. The tip is way higher than Dean’s hip and he glances at Castiel again. Castiel just smiles.

“Come on, up you go. Bend over, hands on the bed.”

He pats the bed beside the thing and Dean’s moving without being aware of it. His eyes are stuck on the purple, now five inches from his eyes, and Castiel’s hands on his ass takes him by surprise. Castiel pats his hip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stretch you good first.”

Dean whines. That thing’s huge. It doesn’t matter how much Castiel stretches him, it’s still going to be massive going inside him, splitting him open and  _god_  his cock fills so quickly at the thought, legs spreading on their own and ass canted so Castiel can reach everything. Dry fingers rub in between his cheeks, thumbs spreading him wide open and he flushes again. Castiel spits, rubbing it in around his hole, fingers trailing down to right behind Dean’s sack, where they pause and press firmly, making him drop his head down and groan. Castiel chuckles, a deep and dark sound.

The cap of the lube snicks open and the tube makes an undignified farting noise that seems loud in the quiet room. Dean snorts.

“We do go through quite a few of these tubes,” Castiel muses, as though he isn’t coating his fingers with lube, filling the room with slick sounds, as though there isn’t a giant purple monstrosity about to go inside Dean. “I bought more earlier.”

Then his finger is rubbing hard across Dean’s hole and Dean has to force himself not to just shove back on it. He loves Castiel’s hands, with their long, thick fingers. He keens behind the ball, which has become damp against his lower lip, only minutes away from beading drool across his chin. A fingertip enters him, rubbing in more lube, before withdrawing only to be replaced with a thumb, pushing lube against his opening with a squelching sound. Castiel does that a few times, squirting more lube straight onto Dean’s hole, and then pushing it in with his thumb, cold and slick inside him. The thumb becomes a finger, and then two, scissoring and stretching him, pushing in more cold lube and teasingly brushing across his prostate. Dean pants through his nose, cock rigid against his stomach. Castiel wedges in a third finger and yet more lube. It’s slick all the way to the back of Dean’s balls, where Castiel’s little finger presses mercilessly against his taint and Dean can’t help rocking back and forth. The embers in his stomach burn hot, glowing and pulsing in time to Castiel’s movements. He inches his legs wider apart, tilting his hips up as far as he possibly can.

Castiel hums again, pleased and warm. “You look good like this, spread and needy around my hand.”

Dean flushes again, but he can’t quite bring himself to try close his legs. He wants too much. Drool drops silently from the ball gag, his jaw aches slightly and the straps are firm around his head. They feel like they’re all that’s holding him together. They feel like they’re an extension of Castiel, firm and everywhere, wrapping him up tight and safe, even as he groans and keens with the fingers in his ass, the dull ache from the stretching making him harder. He closes his eyes and relaxes, leaving the world and himself and everything to Castiel to worry about, floating in the semi-darkness behind his eyelids until Castiel withdraws, leaving him untethered.

He turns his head, watching as Castiel plucks some rope from the bed, tosses it over his shoulder and then moves two piles of books into place by the foot of the bed.

“Up you go,” Castiel says. “Facing me.”

Dean stands, legs shaky, and steps up on the books. The purple dildo nudges his ass as he gets into position. Castiel nods, reaching up to draw a line from the eyelet bolt at the top of the frame to Dean’s wrists and the top of the ball gag harness. He can’t lean his head forward at all, can only stare at Castiel chin and face as he ties the knots. Now, Dean’s not a tiny guy by any means, and his wrists are only around his ears, but when he raises them, he notices he can move his head again, feeding rope to the line at the top of his head. Castiel pecks his nose, then wipes drool from Dean’s chin.

“So beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart, so good for me.”

Dean preens, trying to nuzzle Castiel, but the other man steps away.

“Let’s get you seated, hm?” Castiel says, climbing onto the bed behind Dean.

The tip of the dildo wedges into Dean, slick and heavy and cold and he groans when it pops past the ring muscle, sinking only a few inches inside. Castiel pats his flank, strokes over his back, as though soothing him. It’s not soothing. Dean leans his head forward, which pulls his arms up, and groans again, drool running over his chin. It’s so big. He’s up on his toes, but only notices when Castiel comes around to prod his feet. He sinks down, and the dildo inches further in. He’s panting hard, chest heaving. Fuck, the thing is massive. Despite the thorough stretching and ample lubrication, he feels stretched thin around it.

Castiel keeps petting him, as though he’s a fucking horse, and Dean would seriously glare, but he’s too busy floating, almost hanging off the restraints. He’s so full. It’s so  _good_. He whines when Castiel pinches his nipples, pets him, scratches over his chest, trails his fingers over Dean’s balls. He jerks forward, chasing the friction, and keens in frustration when all it does is pull the dildo out, only for it to sink back in.

“So good for me,” Castiel murmurs while patting Dean’s thigh. “A bit more now.”

Then he goes down on his knees and nudges a book from under Dean, and Dean opens his eyes wide. Oh. _Oh, fuck._  He stays on his toes as Castiel takes the other book as well, and then Castiel taps his heels, forcing Dean down on them again. It moves further in, probably another inch. The pressure against his prostate is constant and intense, and Dean chokes a little, something that sounds like a small sob.

“There you go, sweetheart,” Castiel says, standing, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Isn’t that good?”

Dean’s making this tiny  _uh-uh-uh-_ sound behind the gag, eyes wide. He wants to cry. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s so stuck. His cock bobs heavily between his legs as he makes small thrusts on the thing, unable to move now that it’s so far inside him. Castiel hushes him, kissing his cheek, still patting, soothing, stroking, unyielding. He climbs up on the bed behind Dean, spreading his ass cheeks wide. Dean closes his eyes, trying to hide. He knows what Cas looks like back there, just knows the intense gaze, the slight head tilt, the utter focus on where this giant thing that Castiel chose to force up Dean’s ass is buried inside him. That’s what makes the first tear streak down Dean’s cheek. Castiel’s fingers trace his rim, rubbing against the lube. The tube clicks open again and Dean feels Castiel fist bump against his ass and jostle the dildo as Castiel slicks it up more. Feverishly, Dean wonders how far Castiel intends to impale him. Suddenly the slick hand is around Dean’s cock and Castiel pressed against his back. Dean jolts, the gag muffling a shout as Cas strokes him, firm and hot and slick and perfect, so perfect.

“Halfway now,” Castiel grates in his ear. “You’re so good, it’s amazing. It’s spreading you so open, isn’t it?”

Dean whines as loudly as he can, trying and failing to thrust into Castiel’s hand, which is jerking him so. goddamn. slowly. He’s going to explode, the embers inside him now a roar, the buzzing under his skin unbearable,. He writhes and tries to pull more air in through his nose. He’s soaring, so far gone he doesn’t know if he’ll ever find his way back, but then Castiel’s hand is gone and the other one pinches his nose closed and the world stops. He can’t breathe through the gag, and his lungs are so full. He leans his head back against Castiel’s shoulder, trying to catch his eye, and Castiel looks back at him, eyes warm and soft as though he isn’t stealing Dean’s air at all. Dean’s cock _throbs_.

“Shhh,” Castiel says, his slick hand carding through the hair at the base of Dean’s cock, fingers smoothing over Dean’s balls. “Not yet, love. Relax.”

Dean closes his eyes and leans back, still breathless, lungs burning, and tries. Goddamn him, he tries to relax, and then Castiel lets his nose go and the breath he’s been holding explodes out even as he tries to draw a new one, the world swimming around him. He’s barely aware that Castiel is nudging yet another set of books away from beneath him, but he definitely notices when the dildo slides even further up inside him.

Oh god, how many inches could that possibly be? Cas said halfway, so maybe another book after this? Two? He can’t think, it’s so massive and he’s heaving to make up for all the oxygen Castiel stole. He can feel Castiel wipe his thumbs across Dean’s cheekbones, and when he opens his eyes again, Castiel is in front of him with that patient look, kissing away tears that Dean had forgotten were streaming down his face. He can’t stop them. He nudges his head toward Castiel, craving that contact. He’ll willingly throw himself off any cliff, if only Castiel will keep looking at him like this, warm and loving and happy.

“More?” Castiel asks. It’s not really a question.

Dean nods anyway, his arms now far above his head, the rope to the gag stretching as he’s lowered down on the dildo. His legs tremble when Castiel kneels and removes another book. There’s not carpet below him, so there must be one more book to go. Castiel taps his heels again and Dean tries to lower them but doesn’t get all the way down. The dildo presses up inside him and he’s panting and whining, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he looks straight ahead, unable to move his head much.

“I love you like this,” Castiel says, stepping back. “Panting. Crying. Desperate. Do you know what you’re desperate for?”

_You_ , Dean wants to say, but all he can do is flare his nostrils and keen. Castiel taps his cock with two fingers, bouncing it up against Deans stomach. He draws a breath. Castiel does it again and Dean let’s it out, only to suck in half a breath as quick as he can when he sees Castiel’s other hand rising and pinching his nose shut again. He stares into Castiel’s eyes, his own wide, body trying to fight for air.

“You,” Castiel says slowly, “want to be  _mine_. To have me do anything I want to you.”

_Yes,_ Dean thinks,  _yes, I let me be yours, yours, yours, yours_ …

When Castiel lets go of his nose and steps away again, and Dean’s chest heaves. His nose is clogged with snot from the tears he can’t stop, but he snivels and snivels and breathes. In front of him, Castiel undresses. Dean leans on the gag, letting the harness hold up his head, so that he’ll have the energy to watch Castiel’s tanned skin, the muscles bunched beneath his skin. He wants to touch, lick, taste. Castiel’s cock is hard, a dark ruddy red, the foreskin pulled back and Dean groans with want. He doesn’t notice he’s leaning forward as best he can, until the dildo moves. Then he’s groaning louder, because it  _moves_  and now it’s so big, so impossibly big and so impossibly far inside him and oh  _god_ , he wants, he wants…

Castiel smiles slightly, and wipes drool from Dean’s chin.

“You don’t need to drool over me,” he says.

Dean tries to nod because, hello, _yes he does_. Castiel huffs a laugh.

“Alright, alright. Stay there, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me.”

Castiel climbs onto the bed behind him and Dean hears him settle against the pillows. Castiel hums contentedly.

“You’ve almost got the entire thing now, sweetheart. There’s an inch to go, I think.” There’s a soft sound and Dean sobs when he realizes Castiel is stroking himself. “Go on, fuck yourself on it for me.”

He flushes and oh, that makes his cock hurt with arousal. Cas is just casually there behind him, touching himself with those long fingers, and Dean tries to uselessly bounce on the enormous thing inside him. He doesn’t get very far, he’s halfway up on his toes already, but he rises that last bit up, and sinks down again, over and over and over. The air fills with his gasps and snivelling, his tears are tickling his neck as they spill down his cheeks and dry on his collarbones. His jaw aches, and drool runs across his chin. His legs tremble, all of him trembles, but Castiel said he wanted Dean to be good, and Dean will be good for Castiel, he will, he  _must_.

He doesn’t know how long it takes until Castiel crowds him from behind again, wrapping strong arms around Dean’s chest and holds him close. Castiel’s warm, so warm, and Dean sobs at the contact, pushing backwards, uncaring that he’s impaling himself further, he just wants more of that comfort and heat. Castiel is shushing him, rocking him gently, his erection pressing against Dean’s lower back. The tension goes out of the ropes that are holding him up.

“Just moving you a little, sweetheart,” Castiel murmurs. “Your mouth is so beautiful and stretched around that ball, I want to use it.”

_Yes,_  Dean thinks deliriously,  _yes, use me, please, yes._

Castiel brings his arms down to his sides and Dean sinks a bit further onto the dildo, whining as Castiel rubs his shoulders. Then he’s pulling Dean’s wrists back behind him, arms straight, and pushes gently between Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean goes, awkwardly, bending at the waist. The dildo inside him rubs hard against his prostate. Castiel refastens the rope to the cuffs, pulling his arms up and away from his back. Dean’s shoulders are screaming as his hands are pulled up towards the eyelet, and he leans even further forward. He hangs his head, watching as tears run from his eyes into his hair and onto the carpet. His cock is so hard against his stomach and the dildo rubs against him with every breath.

Castiel comes around, kneeling. Dean shakes his head weakly, but Castiel’s patting his hip comfortingly as he reaches for the last books beneath Dean’s feet. Dean’s left on his toes, sinking another inch back, bent forward. He’s so helpless, but Castiel’s got him. Castiel always has him. Castiel walks around him again, prodding his entrance, where the dildo disappears into him, rubbing curiously, trailing fingers over Dean’s back and into his hair, which he pets for a long minute. Nimble fingers find the buckles and the gag falls to the floor beside them. Dean heaves for air, trying to work his jaw loose. It’s sore.

Castiel’s nails scratch his scalp as though he’s a cat and Dean wishes he could purr. A hand below his chin tilts him up until he can just barely look up at Castiel. There, right in front of him, is Castiel’s cock, and it’s really not fair to Dean, because now he’s entirely distracted. He reaches his tongue for it, but Castiel twists his fingers into Dean’s hair and pulls, so Dean lets his jaw go slack. He can’t help the groan when the head of Castiel’s cock slides over his tongue, bitter and salty with precome.

It touches the back of his throat and he swallows, listening to Cas breath hitch. Castiel fucks his mouth lazily, and Dean lets him, lets him have everything. He coasts, floating free on the burn in his shoulders, the brilliant pressure in his ass, the smell and taste of Castiel in his mouth. He’s surrounded, swallowed up, covered in everything that is Castiel, and he surrenders to it with all he has to give. His nose smears snot and saliva over Castiel’s skin, Castiel’s balls bump against his chin, wet and slippery. He tries to stretch his tongue out, urgently needing to be _good_ , and manages to weakly lap at Castiel’s balls.

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel hisses, and Dean does it again, and again, and then Castiel is pushing him down, down, down and coming. Dean can’t breathe, but he just hangs there with his nose smashed into Castiel’s skin, content and breathless, because it’s okay, Castiel’s got him.

When Castiel pulls back, the bitter and pungent taste of semen follows his cock and Dean laps at it, trying to taste as much of it as possible. Castiel lets him, breathing heavily somewhere above Dean, hands carding through Dean’s hair, pulling it and nails scraping his scalp. Eventually Castiel withdraws, and Dean drops his head again, already missing the closeness. He whines slightly.

“Shh,” Castiel whispers, “it’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Fingers smooth over his shoulders, Castiel’s arm coming to hold him under his chest, and the rope to his arms is released, lowering them to his back. He groans, shoulders on fire and knees weak, but Castiel draws him close, pulls him up so Dean can lean his head against Castiel’s shoulder and he lets Castiel guide him back onto a pile of books. Up, and up, until the dildo slides out of him with a squelching sound and he’s left empty and open and drained. He’s not entirely aware of being gentled down on the bed, but it’s soft and cool against his clammy skin. He reaches for Castiel as soon as he’s horizontal, but Castiel is elsewhere, too far away, and he whines.

Then he shouts and tenses, because Castiel is between his knees, two fingers sliding up inside him and  _fuck_  he’s so loose and open. Just as those fingers find his prostate and press, Castiel leans down and swallows his cock. Dean sobs, tired and overwhelmed, as Castiel forces pleasure on him, winding him up like a toy until he shatters into a million pieces. He groans long and hard when the orgasm rips through him, leaving him gasping and shuddering, raw and open and vulnerable.

He closes his eyes and floats, riding the waves of emotions that well up inside him. Distantly, he’s aware of Castiel moving around and the bed jostling him, but he doesn’t much care, content to just lie there and breathe.

The next thing he knows is Cas lying on his side next to him, watching; close, but not touching. They figured out early on that Dean doesn’t do well with contact while he floats, it’s a pretty good way to send him spiralling. This is far better, with Dean twitching, then hauling himself to cover the ten inches or so between them to throw a clumsy and heavy arm across Cas’s chest.

Cas smiles at him and Dean closes his eyes, burrowing closer, hiding against Cas’s chest. He wants to be closer. His eyes burn and his body aches, but it’s a good pain, a dull throb that makes him feel alive and exhausted at the same time. Cas draws him closer, a hand on the back of Dean’s neck grounding him. Dean rubs his nose against Cas’s chest, catching the few hairs and the smell of sweat.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Cas says.

“I love you,” Dean says, “I love you, I love you,” pressing the words into Cas’s skin.

**Author's Note:**

> So. That was a thing that I did. 
> 
> Thanks to **[horrorgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorgirl/pseuds/horrorgirl)** for betaing!


End file.
